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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24911980">wrap me in silk, don't let go</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/writevale/pseuds/writevale'>writevale</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Asphyxiation, Banned Together Bingo, Canon Asexual Character, Coming Untouched, Fill: Sexy Spider, Jon's arachnophobia, Kink Exploration, M/M, Sex-Neutral Ace, Trans Martin Blackwood, Wet Dream, restriction kink, safehouse period</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:00:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,719</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24911980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/writevale/pseuds/writevale</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>'I'm so sorry,' Martin gabbles, rubbing his sweaty palms against the fabric of his slacks awkwardly, 'I think I had a nightmare.'<br/>'It didn't sound like a nightmare.'</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Banned Together Bingo 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>wrap me in silk, don't let go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Martin squirms helplessly against his bonds, letting out a muffled groan as the action presses his thighs even tighter against the swelling heat between them. He'd woken up like this, the bony prominences of his wrists digging into his chest by layer after layer of gossamer-thin webbing that shines pearly-white in the gloom of the wherever he’s currently trapped in. He keens again, feeling the webs twitch against his lips as his breath blows through them and knowing, with the sort of clarity only found in dreams, that those webs run all the way down his throat, softening his every scream. He thinks that he would be more concerned about this if it didn't feel so good.</p><p> </p><p>The spider hangs above him, weaving yet more silk to wrap him up in. Martin tries to take in a deep breath but he's tied tight enough to limit the expansion of his ribcage to little more than a tiny gasp. It feels incredible to be wrapped like this, from head to toe. In the restriction, Martin has found a kind of ecstasy that can only come with the feeling of knowing that someone - or something - cares about him enough to weave him the tightest embrace he has ever experienced. He feels so <em>desired </em>in this hammock of white and, in turn, can't help the welling of desire from deep within himself. </p><p> </p><p>The spider scuttles closer but Martin feels no fear. If not for the sticky webbing gluing his tongue to the floor of his mouth he would tell the creature:<em> thank you, thank you</em> as it starts to roll Martin's body like a hog on the spit. The action squeezes his thighs together and he can feel himself pulsing in time with the beat of his heart, knowing that no matter how wet gets, the webs are impenetrable and his slickness stays inside with him. The spider turns his body with an odd chittering sound and Martin cannot breathe and he cannot breathe and it's so <em>tight </em>and he's going to -</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>Martin realises that he's awake before he even opens his eyes. Knows that he must be, because the waves of pleasure washing through him like the cleansing crash of the tide are far too real to be a dream. He clenches down on nothing, hips bucking up against no friction, body as confused as his mind as he wriggles and finds that he can move his body freely.</p><p> </p><p>He blinks awake and there is no eight-legged dancer dangling above him. Only the damp-stained ceiling of the cottage's living room that he and Jon had once spent a fine afternoon finding animals and faces in. Martin's ragged breathing hitches as the surface beneath him moves and a concerned voice by his ear asks:</p><p>'Are you alright, Martin?'</p><p> </p><p>Martin pushes his glasses up his nose and glances down his body at the casual arm slung across his middle. <em>Right</em>, he thinks as he slowly pieces together the jigsaw of his current reality. And then, <em>oh GOD</em>, as the picture finally clicks together.</p><p>'Oh, God! Jon! Sorry!’</p><p> </p><p>Somewhere in the fog of endorphins floating around in his brain, Martin has worked out that he's laid out on the sofa between Jon's legs, head resting back against the man's shoulder. Cheeks burning, he cranes his neck to try and meet Jon's eyes but can't quite manage it. Jon clears his throat.</p><p> </p><p>'I'm so sorry,' Martin gabbles, rubbing his sweaty palms against the fabric of his slacks awkwardly, 'I think I had a nightmare.'</p><p>'It didn't sound like a nightmare.' Jon's voice is a perfect blend of amusement and curiosity. Martin wants to <em>die</em>. But he also wants to kiss Jon first, just in case his lips are curved into that tiny little smirk that feels so nice under Martin's lips and ties his stomach in knots. Martin shudders, he needs to avoid thinking about being tied up for a while.</p><p>'I -' He coughs, 'I think it was. There was a big spider and everything.' Jon's hand, which had started gently stroking the curve of Martin's stomach, freezes.</p><p>'That doesn't necessarily make it a nightmare for you though,' He comments dryly, fingertips resuming their soothing path through the bunched up material of Martin's T-shirt, 'You'd have a spider over for bloody tea and scones.'</p><p> </p><p>Martin still feels hot all over and slightly damp in places that he'd rather not be. The feeling isn't helped by the closed mouthed kiss Jon presses into the side of his neck, a gesture he interprets as Jon's forgiveness for daring to consider his most hated creature in a positive light. 'Do you want to, ah, tell me about it?'</p><p>'It's . . . Weird.' Martin warns and Jon shuffles to bury his nose in Martin's hair, as though settling in for a story.</p><p>'Weirder the better.' Jon mumbles, voice getting lost in the coppery curls atop Martin's head. His stomach knots and unknots. <em>I suppose it's kind of funny</em>, Martin reasons with himself, <em>it's not like I actually want that. </em></p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>'This is silly.' Martin concludes from his perch on the end of the bed the next day. He watches Jon lay out another sheet on top of the others he had been able to find. Beneath them, Jon has spread out both of their towels, reasoning that the sheets would feel silkier against Martin's skin than the scratchy cotton towelling they'd had to wash a number of times before daring to use. Jon looks up at him with an unfair patience in his eyes and a twist to his lips that reminds Martin of his opinion about sex in general: faintly amusing, mostly confusing. 'Yeah, you know what, let's forget about it?'</p><p>'Martin,' Jon smiles, that patience extending to his voice but not completely hiding the undercurrent of laughter, 'The ball's really in your court here. If you want to try it, I'm happy to help.'</p><p> </p><p>Martin picks at his fingernails, thinking. The mattress sags a little as Jon sits down next to him and Martin licks his lips as Jon's hand sweeps down the checked material of his pyjama bottoms before giving his knee a squeeze. When he meets Jon's eyes shyly, there's a questioning hue to the look he gets in return.</p><p>'Want me to wrap you up?' Jon asks. Martin's recollection of his dream has gone a little patchy overnight, but he remembers the force of his orgasm. He remembers that <em>perfectly</em>.</p><p>'Yeah? Yeah. I do, actually.'</p><p> </p><p>Jon makes to stand and sinks back down into the bed with a tiny gasp as Martin catches the hem of his T-shirt to overbalance him into a kiss. It's almost chaste, a press of warm lips that taste of tea and the sugary betrayal of a biscuit Jon had sworn he hadn't eaten. Not the kind of heated explosion of tongue and teeth that one might imagine preceding the exploration of a recently discovered kink. Martin loves it all the more for that.</p><p> </p><p>'Okay.' Jon coughs, cheeks slightly pinker than they were before the kiss. His hair is a little mussed up at the back from where Martin had slipped his fingers through it. A flash of teeth sinking into his bottom lip, Jon must catch the way Martin stares because he smooths his hair back down awkwardly before turning his attention to the laid out sheets. 'Um, lie down then? Diagonally will work best.'</p><p> </p><p>It's strange, the way Jon states things as fact that would be mere hypotheses for most people. Martin huffs a laugh and Jon's eyebrows quirk into a frown and then tilt upwards in understanding.</p><p>'Oh, erm, sorry. It's true though. You're in charge though, as we agreed, so if you want to lie down a different way, that's. . . Well, whatever you think.' </p><p>Martin reaches out for Jon's scarred hand with a smile and presses a kiss to his knuckles as Jon winds their fingers together.</p><p>'Alright, I'll lie down diagonally. But only because I want to.'</p><p> </p><p>The mattress creaks as Martin gets comfortable. He can feel Jon's eyes roaming the length of him and the sensation prickles the exposed skin on his arms and legs. Together with the thrum of anticipation in his bones, the feelings merge into a quiet heat in his groin, a precursor to the lust he expects will consume him shortly. </p><p> </p><p>'What?' He asks gently as Jon's face puckers with uncertainty.</p><p>'Just checking you aren't wearing anything tight that's going to cut your circulation off.' He grumbles. Martin smiles.</p><p>'I don't think so.'</p><p>'Right.'</p><p> </p><p>Martin crosses his arms over his chest like a poor impression of a mummified body and Jon sets to work quickly and efficiently. There's a little crease between his brow as he works that Martin could find sexy, but is mostly just tugging on his heart strings. Somehow, the Beholding has seen fit to bestow Jon with a set of instructions on how to swaddle Martin perfectly in the thin, cotton sheets and he feels more and more restricted with every layer that is wrapped around him.</p><p> </p><p>Jon sweeps his fringe out of his eyes with a slow, delicate movement that has Martin's heart stuttering in his chest. The surge of arousal he expected from replicating his dream the best they could doesn’t crash over him the way he thought it would. He feels tense with anticipation, waiting to lose himself to desire and almost scared that the feeling is going to catch him off-guard, so much so that, as Jon fiddles with tucking the corner of the final towel away, he's almost too far inside his head to notice that, actually, it feels nice.</p><p> </p><p>He tries to wriggle and can't do much more than twitch his toes and rock one hip up towards the ceiling at a time. <em>If something happened now, I'd be useless</em>, he thinks but the thought doesn't inspire panic. He feels safe like this, every part of his body wrapped up in the tightest of hugs. He doesn't need to worry about anything, Jon is looking after him.</p><p> </p><p>Jon, actually, is looking <em>at </em>him, expression unsure. Martin cranes to see that he's playing with the rolled-up ball of clean socks they were planning on using to simulate the feeling of choking on the webs.</p><p>'How . . . Do you feel?' The restraint required not to slip into compulsion is evident in the slow, measured way he asks. Martin gives him a wobbly smile. 'Oh no, not good? I can-?'</p><p>'No, no, it's nice!' Jon's hand, already en route to start undoing the wrappings, pauses, coming to rest on the taut fabric over Martin's chest. Martin's not entirely sure where the wave of emotion that washes over him has come from, but he lets it break against the rocky cliffs that have been shielding him from these big feelings since . . . Well, for as long as he can remember. Jon's hazel irises shine with concern at the pooling tears in the corners of Martin's eyes. He can't move to rub at them himself, and his breath catches when Jon runs his thumb across the freckled expanse of his cheek to swipe one away as it dares to spill. 'I feel -'</p><p>'Martin?'</p><p>'Safe.' He chokes. Jon's eyes widen in understanding and Martin watches the handsome prominence of his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. 'I feel safe.' A part of him is screaming at how ridiculous this is, Martin is not a baby and getting wrapped up in blankets for a cry will solve nothing. The rest of him is desperate to give in to it, to sink further into the peaceful helplessness and the security of Jon's ever-watchful presence. 'I'm sorry, I - I guess I'm just not used to it.'</p><p>'Martin.' Jon breathes. He sounds like his heart is breaking and Martin wants nothing more than to have him closer, have his limbs wrapped tight around this leaking bundle of blankets, Jon's chin resting atop his head. Before he has even finished the thought, Jon is there, dropping the socks on the bed to scoot close. He peppers feather-light kisses across Martin's forehead and damp cheeks and whispers, 'I've got you.' into his curls. 'Do you want me to undo it?'</p><p>'No, please.' Martin whispers back. ‘I just,’ He exhales. A long, shaky breath from the bottom of his lungs. 'Can we just cuddle?'</p><p>'Yes, yeah, of course.' Jon's wiry arms snake around the soft bulk of him like vines around a tree trunk. He twists onto his side so he can hook a leg over Martin's middle. The weight of it feels wonderful. A light kiss is pressed against his temple and Martin melts. He is a puddle of a man, held together only by the bundle of blankets that Jon has so lovingly enfolded him into. 'Just to be sure, you don't want . . . ?' Martin can just see the way Jon sweeps a hand in the direction of his crotch, stumbling over his words.</p><p>'No, sorry, apparently not.' He tries a smile and the mouth hovering in his peripheral vision twitches in response. 'Just, um, hold me?'</p><p>Jon nestles in closer, close enough that Martin can feel the twist of lips against his jaw. 'I can do that.' Jon asserts with a squeeze.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Martin wakes to the luxurious scratch of fingernails against his scalp.</p><p>'Mmph.' He hums before blinking into the mid-afternoon glow of their bedroom. His mouth is dry when he swallows, confused and drowsy. He's far too warm.</p><p> </p><p>It's only when he tries to wrestle himself free of the bedcover that he realises - <em>oh, yeah. </em></p><p>'Hello.' Jon is still settled in at his side. 'Nice nap?'</p><p>'Mm, sorry.'</p><p>'Don't be, you were only out for ten minutes. I didn't even get bored.' Martin hears the sound of his mouth pop open again as Jon realises what he said.</p><p>'Well done, you.' He murmurs and Jon apologises with a kiss. Despite the heat, it's not an awful way to wake up. 'Would you mind?' Martin makes a show of wriggling against his bindings and Jon's throaty laugh spills out from above his head.</p><p>'How do you feel?' Jon shuffles up onto his hands and knees.</p><p>'Warm.' He grumbles and tries not to preen too obviously when Jon barks another laugh. 'No, I'm joking. It was different to what I expected but . . . Good?' He catches Jon's eyes as the man leans over to undo the first layer. 'Thank you.'</p><p>'You're welcome.' Jon averts his gaze to fixate on the nimble movements of his fingers as he starts to free his boyfriend. There's a spot of pink high on his cheekbones that wasn't there a moment ago. Martin bites his bottom lip in lieu of a giggle.</p><p> </p><p>'The only thing that concerns me,' Jon starts a minute later. They're down to the last two layers now. Martin didn't realise how easy breathing could be. He tugs the sheet out from where it has been trapped by Martin's hip and meets his eyes. They twinkle with mischief and a warm ache blossoms in Martin's chest. <em>God, I love him. </em>'If it wasn't the restriction that turned you on . . .'</p><p>'Jon!' Martin laughs, 'Are you trying to suggest it was the spider?' His Archivist shrugs dramatically and whips away the last two layers with the vicious precision of a slighted fifties housewife. Martin chuckles as he stretches out his arms and legs then, just a glutton for a cuddle today, gestures for Jon to lay down on top of him. He seems more than happy to do so and even more pleased when Martin kisses the top of his head</p><p>'I'm just saying, Martin, you know I draw a line at spiders.' Jon's voice rumbles against his chest. It's lovely. Martin grips him tight to avoid throwing him off with his laughter.</p><p>'Aw,' He whines, 'But if we just got a few pairs of black tights, stuffed them with socks? I think you'd look very sexy.'</p><p>'Non-negotiable.' Martin can tell he's blushing as Jon buries his face into the crook of his neck. The heat of Jon's exposed cheek begs to be kissed, so Martin obliges. Flushed with endorphins and always one to act with due diligence, Martin flutters kisses over the rest of Jon's exposed skin, grinning as the man's blush only deepens. </p><p>'Are you sure?' He teases.</p><p>'<em>Non-negotiable.</em>'</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this was my first fill for the banned together bingo! the prompt was: sexy spider. I hate spiders so I kept the actual sexy spider part as short as I could! let's have some cute jonmartin trusting each other enough to try new things instead!!</p><p>let me know how you think I did! </p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://writevale.tumblr.com/">@writevale</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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